Harry Potter and the Liberi Fatali
by Cyberwolf
Summary: New chapter up, ANs deleted, am wailing over my lost Digimon story. 'In style, in purpose, in execution - Summoning is the warrior's art. Harry, you are a Summoner.' Crossover with Final Fantasy.
1. Prologue: The Calm Before The Storm

It had been, for Harry Potter, a very typical summer. Despite the fact that he had just emerged from one of the most traumatic and stressful school-years he had ever experienced; despite the fact that Voldemort had returned; despite the fact that Harry had been a Triwizard Champion and in fact won the tournament; despite the fact that he had fought a dragon and watched a schoolmate die - despite all that, it was very typical. 

Meet Vernon Dursley, his very Muggle and very offensive uncle, at King's Cross Station. 

Nod dutifully and silently (as the Dursleys preferred him) while Vernon told him what a disgraceful, ungrateful, and generally awful young brat he was. 

Return to Little Whinging, Surrey, where he had to hide his school supplies and homework under loose floorboards in his bedroom and cater to his relatives' every whim. Actually, that was less true than in years past - first of all, he had the threat of an escaped-convict-protective-godfather (in the form of Sirius Black) hanging over the Dursleys' ugly heads; and secondly, as the years passed he grew less and less willing to give into his relatives' bullying. After his fourth year, he was very unwilling indeed. 

Still, teenage defiance and newfound maturity only went so far. He did enough chores, mostly of the outdoor variety, to justify his spending most of the day alone. His meals were left, cold and unappetizing, on a plate in the kitchen - he did not eat with the Dursley family. 

He did his homework, reread some of the Muggle literature that had been his escape in pre-Hogwarts days (he was very fond of the _Dark is Rising_ sequence) but mostly brooded. Contrary to what many of his friends seemed to think, Harry was _not_ drowning in self-loathing about what had happened to Cedric. He had _seen_ Voldemort order Cedric's death - it was yet another trauma to lay at the Dark Lord's feet. But just because he did not blame himself did not mean remembering the night at the graveyard wasn't horrible. He had many nightmares involving, in a ghastly mixed-up way, the last words of his parents and of Cedric, of being tortured by the Deatheaters and Voldemort himself with the Cruciatus curse, and of the green light that marked the Avada Kedavra and was Harry's first memory. 

Still, all-in-all, it was a very normal summer, unmarked with the excitement of the Quidditch World Cup, attempted escapes, or the Dark Mark. 

He had no idea about how all of that would change on his fifteenth birthday. 

*** 

** Disclaimer **   
I own nothing. Deatheaters, Voldemort, Quidditch, and of course adorable Harry Potter do not belong to me. (I'd take Harry, though, if JK were to offer) 

Wow, my first Harry Potter fanfic. After three years of reading HP fics, you'd think I'd've got off my duff sooner. Well, actually, I began writing _this_ about a year and more back. It was just abandoned on my laptop's hard drive for that amount of time. ^_^ For that reason, this will not be taking 'Order of the Phoenix' into account in regards to the continuity. In other words: SIRIUS LIVES! 

Since this is the intro, only, it's remarkably devoid of anything resembling plot, story, or interesting factors. I _swear_ it'll pick up later, though. This is, by the way, a crossover. With what? I'll tell you next chapter. ;) 


	2. Kindle A Vow From Dreams

__

I did not believe because I could not see  
Though you came to me in the night  
When the dawn seemed forever lost  
You showed me love in the light of the stars  
-Dante's Prayer, Loreena McKennitt 

*** 

As befitting his so-far normal summer, Harry Potter went to bed on the eve of his fifteenth birthday with little fuss. He brushed his teeth, changed into pajamas that were - like a vast majority of his clothes - made for a person fatter and, now, shorter than he was, and climbed into his bed, pulling his blanket over him. He had remembered to let Hedwig fly out of the window for a night's hunting, and he had finished his Charms homework and painting the garden-fence (again), so he was tired in a surprisingly pleasant way. And then he fell asleep. 

And plunged into a totally new world.

*** 

Soaring over the sea, as free and light as dandelion-down on the wind. Flying close to the surface of the water, so close that sea spray wet his face and he inhaled the sharp tang of salt. 

_I'll be waiting…_

And then the ocean below him changed, shifting into a green meadow sprinkled liberally with wildflowers. A single gray stone breaking the pattern of green - shaped like, like…

_Why?_

…a tombstone. The sky darkening into night with a billion bright points making it beautiful. Something mirroring that glitter of stars on the ground, a single glimmer as of starlight reflecting off something on the grass near the tombstone. 

The world around him shifting yet again, into desert, ground parched and cracked like land after a drought. Golden sand reflecting the blazing glory of the sun, swirling in small sand-dervishes, pushed by howling winds. 

_Whenever you come…_

Heat and light, too much to be comfortable - enough, in fact, to be agony, like being in the heart of flames. 

_I'll be there. I promise._

Soaring into that brilliantly blue desert sky - day now, not night - face full into the sun but not flinching from its white blaze; sky turning storm-gray. Standing on a rocky mountaintop, flat dusty ground ringed round with large gray boulders. Turning his face upwards, into the sky, seeking the white blaze from the desert but instead meeting soft wind, laden with the promise of rain. 

_Where?_

A single white feather drifting down from the heavens, buffeted here and there by the winds. And then it was no longer a feather, but a sword that caught the light as it plunged downwards like a javelin hurled by the gods. A ring of silver fire exploding outwards from where it landed, the blade piercing into the stone, standing proudly upright. 

_Where I gave you my vow._

He reached out a hand to the hilt…

_…my knight…_

…and he found himself falling, falling as that silver sword had fallen, while around him the air pulsated in shifting colors. He landed on his feet, cat-sure and balanced, facing a huge stone castle. The castle was not like warm, inviting Hogwarts - it was dark and shadow-cloaked and very forbidding. Nevertheless, he moved forward. 

Before two great wooden doors was a huge flat slab of black stone, like a lintel. The stone it was hewn of was glossy black, reminding him of obsidian or polished onyx. And on its flat surface were engraved words in letters of gold, in a hand unlike any Harry had seen before, and which he could best liken (though it was crude comparison) to calligraphy.

_

Excitate vow e somno, liberi mei  
Cunae non sunt  
Excitate vow e somno, liberi fatali  
Somnus non eat  


_

He traced one finger over the gold letters, somehow not surprised when they started to glow slightly as he did so. The glow grew steadily brighter, until it was illuminating his face, making it seem as he was staring into some bonfire, and his green eyes reflected the light until there was no distinguishing emerald from gold. 

He blinked, and his eyes were wholly emerald again, because he no longer stood facing a lintel-stone with carved-fire words; instead he was in a hallway, all fine wooden paneled walls and soft lighting. He walked along the hallway, steps muffled by the carpet underfoot. His attention was focused on the paintings that lined the walls, canvases with identical gold-leaf frames. Each had a small plaque underneath, wherein was carved what he took to be the title of each painting.

_Viator… _he read silently, looking at a painting of an archangel with a flaming sword in one hand and a blue orb in the other. /Messenger…/

_Hortum…_an idyllic looking scene of gently-rolling green, dotted with orchard-trees, and a small marble fountain in its center. /Garden…/

_Exspectatio…_a maiden in blue, seated on a bench, gazing into the distance with an attitude of melancholy. /Waiting…/

He turned a corner, and confronted a large painting, one at least twice as tall as he was. It took up the entirety of one wall; its frame was slim black wood, instead of the more elaborate gold-leaf of the others. Harry stared at it, and at the words on the plaque below…

_

There is a messenger waiting in the garden.

_

*** 

He walked down the winding staircase beyond that last painting. He ended up in a small windowless room, whose only feature was a door set into the wall. He walked to it, turned the old-fashioned door handle. There was a soft click, and the door swung open. He stepped through it into a garden.

The garden was fairly large - large enough so that its farthest reaches weren't easily discernible. He walked into it, feeling the grass crunch slightly underneath him - the blades were silvered with frost. The moon in the night-sky visible through the leafy boughs was a bright crescent, dappling the grass in silver and black. 

There were two waiting for him. One took the shape of a great bird of prey, with dark fathomless eyes and smooth gray plumage. Its beak was a curved blade-edged thing, as deadly and as beautiful as Gryffindor's sword. So too were its talons, which were clenched around the branch of an oak tree. The other appeared as a tall elegant lady, coldly beautiful, with skin as pale as Arctic frost and eyes and hair of pale blue hardly any darker than the white-ice skin. 

He stared at them, and their images seared themselves into his memory in that one instant of sight, more significant to him than any other thing he had ever seen. 

In words that were not words, in speech that was not language but were rather the transference of raw concepts and ideas from one consciousness to another, they communicated with him. 

*I am Shiva.*

*I am Quetzalcoatl.*

He stared, slightly non-plused by the weird way they were talking. He almost _sent_ back to them, the way they were doing, before remembering that he wasn't capable of that. 

"I'm Harry Potter," he said. 

*We know. We have been waiting long for you.*

"Why?"

*We are Aeons. We are your Aeons.*

*** 

**Author's Note**  
This fic (title changed from _ 'Legacy of the Aeons' _ to _ 'Liberi Fatali' _) is a HP fic primarily, crossing over with the ** Final Fantasy game series**. It isn't a crossover with any one game in particular, though it draws more heavily on ** Final Fantasy X** and ** Final Fantasy VIII ** than the others. (As anyone who's ever seen FFVIII can tell you, the above chapter is _ such _ a ripoff of the game's opening FMV) 

All ** Final Fantasy ** elements belong not to me, but to Square Enix, the one software developer who, for me, justifies the entire existence of the Playstation. (grovels in front of Squaresoft logo) 

_ Liberi Fatali _ means 'children of fate'; and the lines Harry sees engraved on the lintel-stone are Latin, drawn from 'Liberi Fatali', the opening theme of FFVIII and IMHO one of the best opening songs ever. Translation is as follows: 

_

Excitate vow e somno, liberi mei  
Cunae non sunt  
Excitate vow e somno, liberi fatali  
Somnus non eat  


_

***

Kindle a vow from dreams, my children   
There are no cradles   
Kindle a vow from dreams, children of fate   
Let not dreams go [away]

The translation was obtained from GameFAQs, from the work of DeeBlackthorne. All credit goes to her. 

Didja like the fic? Is it worth continuing? Please drop a line. ^_^ 


	3. The Messengers In The Garden

_But when the morning comes   
And the sun begins to rise  
I will lose you  
Because it's just a dream  
When I open up my eyes  
I will lose you  
_ -Wherever You Are 

"Aeons?" Harry repeated the words, turning them over in his mouth, wondering at the way they seemed to strike a chord in his subconscious. "You are…Aeons? What are they?" 

*_We_,* sent the great gray eagle, Quetzalcoatl, and Harry suddenly realized that he could tell from whence each sending came from, and he knew not how, *are Aeons. We are…well, we are like spirits.* 

*It is more appropriate, perhaps, to say we are something like forces given sentience. We give power - of various aspects - to the one who masters us* Shiva sent. 

"Master? Why do you need a master?" 

*Does fire burn without a starting spark? Does lightning strike without a point to attract it? Without someone to give us a link to the plane of existence, we are as mere formless potential. We exist that way, we were made that way.* 

Harry frowned. He didn't like the sound of these beautiful apparitions subjugated to someone else. It sounded too much like slavery. 

*You make the mistake of thinking us like humans. We are not – it is no shame to us to need masters. And it is not like any passing human can just pick us up – it needs a certain type of person, and even then we do not give ourselves meekly over to them. They must first prove worth to us. If they prove worth, why then, it is pride to be associated with one such.* 

*Your wand is powerful magic,* Quetzalcoatl put in, *yet it does nothing without you wielding it. Without someone to use it to cast spells, any wand – even one as magical as yours – is nothing more than a piece of wood.* 

Harry had to laugh at the eagle's description of wands. 

*Perhaps* Quetzalcoatl mused, *perhaps we have used the wrong word to introduce the concept. Harry, do you know what a symbiote is?* 

Harry said, sheepishly feeling a little like Hermione, "I read about it in science class, in Muggle school. It's two or more organisms joined together for the mutual benefit of both, isn't it?" 

*Correct. The word describes the Aeon-human relationship better than anything else I can think of. We benefit; the human benefits. It's a…how do you say it…a win-win situation.* 

*You've been studying human idioms again, haven't you, Quetzy?* Shiva sent, teasing coloring the sending. Harry wondered how he could tell, at how he could discern such things of the sending. 

A thought crossed his mind, something so hopeful he dared not concentrate too much on it. It was becoming clear to him that Quetzalcoatl and Shiva were not omniscient spirits. Despite Shiva's earlier admonition of not to think of them as humans, they seemed very human to Harry. Very much like humans who could be friends. 

*Be quiet, Shiva. Anyway, there is a certain amount of _mastering_ to be done – but that merely refers to improving the skill and efficiency with which the human accesses the Aeon's powers. The Aeon cannot tell the human what to do; the Aeon, in turn, if given a command he – 

*Ahem* Shiva sent, imitating a person clearing his throat. 

*…or _she_ disagrees with, can break off the joining.* 

"Okay…" Harry said slowly. "But what about…" 

The eagle and the lady both threw up their heads, as if listening to some far-away sound. *Harry…it is time for you to leave. I'm sorry…there is still so much to tell you,* sent Shiva. *We haven't even told you your part in all of this.* 

*Tomorrow,* promised Quetzalcoatl. *Tomorrow you will return here, and we will speak with you. Now that you have found your way here, we shall have more time.* 

"Tomorrow? Found my way…what do you mean?" 

*We can only speak to you while your soul is at its freest – that is, in sleep,* explained Shiva. *And you've spent most of this night's sleep getting taken through the path to the garden. Tomorrow, we can bring you directly here.* 

*Tomorrow…* 

…tomorrow… 

_…tomorrow…_

*** 

Harry woke up to the sounds of his alarm clock – really Dudley's old one, which the fat boy had replaced when the cartoon characters on it ceased to hold his interest – ringing the time. Sleepily, he slapped a hand on the snooze button. 

He yawned, blinked his eyes…and grabbed for his glasses once he saw what was hovering in the air just above him. 

Etched into the air, like words painted in gold, were the strange calligraphy-like letters from the black stone in his dream. 

_Excitate vow e somno, liberi mei  
Cunae non sunt  
Excitate vow e somno, liberi fatali  
Somnus non eat_

And then the words changed, the lines of each word shifting to form new letters to spell new words. 

_ Surgite  
Invenite hortum veritatis  
_

He stared at them for a moment. The words flared, gold brightening to intense white, and then they swirled together to form a whirling vortex of light. From the vortex a thin strand of brightness jumped to his arm. 

There was a brief moment of…dizziness, like the world spun around him once, and then settled down. Harry found himself standing, though he couldn't remember getting out of bed; he looked at his arm. On his upper arm, just below his right shoulder, were dark lines against his skin, as if he'd just gotten a tattoo. The flowing black lines formed two distinct characters – somehow the word described the markings better than 'letters' or 'pictures' – that looked like a cross between the weird spiky shapes of Hermione's Runes homework and the intricate artistry of Japanese _kanji_. 

Slowly, he traced a finger over them. As he touched one, a single image of Quetzalcoatl suddenly appeared in his mind, illuminated as if by a bright flash of lightning. He blinked, a little startled at the intensity of the vision. Cautiously, he touched the next marking. This time, he saw Shiva, her pale white-and-blue body obscured by what seemed like a whirl of snow. 

He sat in bed for a long silent minute before he got up slowly, stretching to get rid of the sleepy feeling in his limbs. He stared at himself in the mirror, taking oddly careful note of what he saw in the silvered glass. He saw a thin, slender boy, with more bone than anything else on him, especially since he had gone through a bit of a growth spurt in the last months of his school-year - he now stood taller than Dudley at 5'10. A bare-chested boy, because he had discovered, early in the summer, that in his sleep he always managed to toss and turn enough to make shirts bunch up around his neck and convince himself that he was about to suffocate to death, but without much of a chest to display. Jet-black hair that stuck up in stubborn spikes all over his head. Green eyes that looked somewhat unfamiliar, without the usual black frames around them. 

And the markings. Silver lightning on the forehead; knife-slash on his left elbow; black runes on his right arm. 

Harry sighed, and pulled on a tee-shirt. It had been Dudley's; thus, the shirt was so huge that its sleeves engulfed his arms past his elbow. And then he went down to breakfast. 

*** 

Aaaaaaand up comes chapter 2 of _Liberi Fatali_. I hope the Aeons' explanations make them sound plausible instead of just boring. Thank you to ** Neverwhere: Chaos Mode ** whose review as always inspires me to write more. (PS: guilt-stricken due to your review, I have begun writing the last few chapters of _'This Kiss'_ ^^;;) Thanks man. Don't know what I'd do without you. And _ have _ you been playing FF8? If so, I writhe in jealousy. Can't find my copy. *sulks* 

Muchas gracias also to ** Erica, Shadow Star, and**** Ashley** who reviewed my humble attempt. 

_ Surgite  
Invenite hortum veritatis _

means 

_ Arise  
Seek out the garden of truth _

The markings on Harry's arm were inspired by the markings Recca got as he summoned his Dragons on the show ** Honoo no Recca ** (or **Flame of Recca**), one of my favorite anime series, and one that deals with a young dark-haired, green-eyed boy with a significant scar on his face who has a strange control over fire, and summons spirits to help him. Hmm. Coincidence? 

As Obi-wan Kenobi put it: 'There is no such thing as coincidence'. 

Please please please review. This is my first Harry Potter fanfic and I would love to know if it's up to standards. 


	4. Bearing Gifts, We Traverse Afar

            He couldn't stop thinking about the Aeons that whole day. He did his chores absentmindedly, although well enough that Aunt Petunia only yelled at him twice; he had been meaning to start researching for his History of Magic essay, but ended up staring into space, reliving the strange, surreal conversation with Shiva and Quetzalcoatl in the garden over and over again.

            He wanted to go to sleep, wanted to go back to the garden. But even though he changed into his pajamas especially early, and lay down in bed, he couldn't drop off to sleep. It was his fifteenth birthday (though it had been spent mostly catering to the Dursleys), after all, and thus he stayed awake, waiting for his friends' owls. Even when he was trying not to.

             So he lay, wide-eyed and wakeful, on his bed, absently counting the cracks in the ceiling until he heard the scritch-scritch of owl talons on his window. He leapt up and ran to his window, hurriedly opening it to let the owls in.

            He saw Hedwig, his snowy owl, swoop inside with a package, followed by tiny excitable Pigwidgeon, and then by three more owls of varying size and color, all bearing packages. He quickly took the packages from the owls; two of them flew off immediately after. When he had given the rest of them a drink of water and an owl treat each, they left, leaving only Hedwig hooting contentedly in her cage. 

            He paused to fondly ruffle Hedwig's white feathers before turning to the packages on his bed. He opened what Hedwig had been bearing first. It was a letter from Hermione – written, somewhat oddly, on perfectly normal Muggle paper and in ballpoint pen rather than parchment and quill. 

_Dear Harry,_

_Happy Birthday! Hedwig, as usual, showed up today to remind me to send you your birthday present. I've become used to her serving as transportation for my birthday presents, you know?_

_You know – and you're the only one, since I'm not speaking to Ron right now, that insufferable git – that Victor invited me to __Bulgaria__ to visit and that I didn't go, right? Well, my parents and I have gone abroad anyway, just not to __Bulgaria__. We've gone to __Hawaii__ for our trip! It's gorgeous here, and the magic is quite different from ours; I found the local wizard enclave here, and I've picked up some really interesting books about how all their magic ties into nature…_

            The letter then proceeded – at great length – to explain the exact workings of the Hawaiian spells. Harry skimmed through quickly, drawing up short when he came across a most startling line.

_And guess what! I'm learning to surf, too! _

Harry goggled at that, trying to imagine his best friend, bookworm Hermione, surfing.

_I hope you like your present. If you can believe it, I found it on the beach. Of course it was tarnished and dirty from the sand and seawater, but I brought it to an artificer here and he restored it. It's enchanted in some way, we ascertained that, but aside from knowing it's an enchantment of a protective nature, I don't know what it does. I hope you like it._

_Hermione_

            Harry, his interest piqued, picked up the small brown package Hedwig had brought him and ripped the wrapping paper off. He lifted the lid of the box and gasped in sheer shock and pleasure as he beheld Hermione's gift to him. Nestled within a mass of white tissue-paper was a silver armguard. He lifted the hollow cylinder up, turning it over in his hands, examining it. The armguard was surprisingly light, practically weightless as he held it. The silver metal was odd, gleaming and smooth but peculiarly non-reflective. A small orb was inset into the metal, glimmering with shifting hues of blue, white and gold. 

A brief effort made the armguard hinge open; Harry clicked it closed around his right arm. There was no sign of a seam. Harry moved his arm around experimentally, gauging how it felt. The armguard covered his right forearm from just above the wrist to below his elbow, and it felt like…like absolutely nothing. If he didn't know better, he'd've sworn that he had nothing on his arm. 

It felt comfortable, not at all heavy or unbreathing like he'd expect armor to be, so he left it on as he moved onto the next package.  

            To his slight disappointment (but of course, he thought to himself hastily, _anything_ from the Weasleys was good) this thin little packet contained nothing but chatty letters from nearly one-half of the Weasley family. In Ron's letter, he explained that since Errol was nearing the age where all good owls go to that big bird-house in the sky, and since Pig could only carry so much, they decided to just go with the letters. The presents, he said, would be given to him when next they met, so did he want to arrange to meet at Diagon Alley? Then he proceeded to rant about Hermione and the impropriety of her going to Bulgaria to visit with Victor. Harry could almost feel a headache coming on, as if he was listening to Ron actually sputter his indignation and not just reading the angrily-scribbled words on the parchment. 

            He'd promised Hermione not to tell – after all, she could have kept _him_ in the dark too – but at times like this it was _so _tempting to scream at Ron 'she hasn't gone to Bulgaria, you prat, so stop complaining about it already!' It would probably be even worse when they saw each other face-to-face, and so despite how much he missed Ron and he did want those presents, Harry felt a little apprehension about meeting up with his red-haired friend. 

            There were other letters too, of course – a brief but surprisingly witty epistle from Ginny, greeting him a happy birthday. Harry laughed at the short story she penned about the twins and Percy and a dozen bespelled Chocolate Frogs. 

            The twins themselves sent Harry a long, lively letter. They told him about what they had done with the thousand Galleons he'd given them, explaining that since he was a primary partner in the venture, he was entitled to know what they were doing, after all. So Harry laughed over Cheering Chocolates (forced the eater to do cheers about the first thing they saw, complete with cheerleader moves and clothes transfigured to cheerleader outfits), the Incredible Singing Wand, Hula Hoops (bracelets charmed to make the wearer break into dance when someone said Hula) and more.

            There was one from Mrs Weasley, a very motherly-sounding letter full of 'dears' and reminders of proper hygiene. There was one, surprisingly, from Charlie Weasley, just a short 'happy birthday and best wishes' on a card decorated with little dragons. 

            And then onto the next package. It had no letter, just a small card tied onto it that said, 'From a friend.' Harry stared at it, more than a trifle bemused. Should he open it? What if it were from Voldemort? But then, Dumbledore had explained to him that he had so many wards on his house that nothing, animal, vegetable or mineral, could enter with any ill-will towards him in their soul. 

            'Except the Dursleys – they live here already.' 

            So the present was probably safe – and he had gotten some of his most prized possessions anonymously – the Firebolt and the Invisibility Cloak came to mind. Perhaps it was from Dumbledore, or Sirius, or one of his other friends who couldn't risk – at the moment – signing their name…He opened the box inside the wrapping. The thin gift-wrap crinkled as he tore it off, tossed carelessly aside in favor of the shallow white box within its folds. He lifted the lid off…

            And stared at the jacket lying neatly-folded inside the box. He lifted the garment out of the box, holding it by the collar. After the mysterious card and Hermione's preceding gift, somehow he had been expecting something a little more…magical.

            It was nothing more, nothing less, than a perfectly Muggle jacket – black leather, thin almost like cloth.   Oh well, it was a very nice jacket – warm too, as Harry confirmed when he pulled it on. Though he'd hardly seen jackets in the wizarding world, robes and cloaks being preferred, he (Muggle-raised after all) found a jacket more convenient. It was also nice to have a piece of clothing that fit him.

            Still wearing the jacket, he took another package. This one was from Hogwarts – Harry glanced over the traditional welcoming letter and list of supplies, laying aside the list for later use at Diagon Alley. He noted with some surprise that there were several extra scrolls and small wrapped items in the package he'd been sent. There was, of course, the usual letter of welcome from Hogwarts, his list of school supplies, and his ticket for the Hogwarts express. 

            There was a letter from Hagrid, greeting him a happy birthday and best wishes. He said he was abroad at the moment, and was therefore sending his letter care of Headmaster Dumbledore – Harry suspected he was on a goodwill mission to the giants. 

            Hagrid had sent Harry a small flute, made of some hard shiny wood. Harry wanted to try it out – he'd learnt how to play the recorder in Muggle school, and this didn't look much different – but was afraid of awakening the Dursleys. He set it aside to play with later.

            There was a scroll, surprisingly, from Professor Flitwick – a note congratulating him on his adept use of various charms and curses during the Triwizard Tournament. 

'_Your Accio charm'_ penned the diminutive head of Ravenclaw House, '_is one of the best executed I've ever seen. The speed with which your summoned materials come to you is nothing short of remarkable. And as for your dueling skills – they are excellent. I sincerely hope you will continue in this vein, for if you do you shall easily equal your mother – who was one of my best students, and a pleasure to teach. I look forward to seeing your progress in my class next term.' _

            Harry flushed with pleasure upon reading the scroll. He resolved to go over his Charms homework and double-check it and make sure it was one of the best homework assignments he'd ever turned in. Was this how Hermione felt when teachers complimented her all the time? Maybe there was something to be said about applying yourself wholeheartedly to study.

            The Charms teacher had even sent him a present – a book on Charms, somewhat unsurprisingly. This book, however, specialized in charms used in Dueling, and was _much_ more interesting than Harry's regular Charms textbook. 

            There was an unsigned scroll (although Harry knew very well it was from Dumbledore, since it was just like the note from Harry's first year, when he'd been given his father's Invisibility Cloak) This one also wished him a happy birthday, and was attached to a package which Harry found contained several packages of sweets – both wizarding and Muggle candy. There was also, oddly enough, a small silver key. Harry picked it up and squinted at it. He noticed that a new block of writing slowly appeared on the scroll when he picked up the key. The new text read: 

_That is a key to Vault 5 at Gringott's. Your father had more than one vault – he just chose not to rely on his inheritance and to build up his own fortune.Part of  that fortune he placed in a trust-fund for you, which is in the vault you already have access to. I believe you are mature enough to see what other legacies your father left you. I advise you not to tell anyone of this. Be well, Harry._

            Harry gaped. _Another_ vault? And what did he mean, 'other legacies'?

            He came to the final scroll. As he unrolled it, he wondered who it was from. Professor McGonagall, maybe? 

            It _was_ from Professor McGonagall, but it wasn't to greet him a 'happy birthday'. She was writing in her capacity as Deputy Headmistress to tell him that…

            "I've been selected as a prefect?" Harry whispered in complete shock. Still not fully registering it, he reread the parchment with the Hogwarts crest prominent at the top.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_It is my pleasure to inform you that you have been selected to serve as a prefect for your house, Gryffindor. You have been considered for this position due to your repeated demonstrations of bravery, resourcefulness and honor. I hope that you will bear the responsibility and privilege of being a prefect with dignity and good comportment._

_Due to extenuating circumstances, the duties and privileges of prefects have been modified this year. Therefore, there will be a general prefect meeting to discuss certain changes in protocol. As a new prefect, you will be required to arrive an hour before the others in order to receive orientation. Please be at the Leaky Cauldron at __10:00 AM__ on August 24. You will be met there by this year's Head Boy and Girl, who will take you and your fellow new prefects to Hogwarts for the meeting.   _

_You are recommended not to purchase school supplies until you have attended the meeting. _

_Sincerely yours,_

_Professor Minerva McGonagall_

_Head of Gryffindor House_

_Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts_

Harry could feel his jaw hanging open in sheer shock. Were they completely mad? He was _Harry Potter_, for crying out loud! He was the one who lost his House a hundred-and-fifty points at a go; he was the one who broke school rules right and left; he wasn't even top of his class! Still, his father had apparently broken more rules than he did, and _he'd_ become Head Boy…

He shook his head. He didn't want to admit it, but the letter brought him a feeling of happiness just like Professor Flitwick's had. He was…proud…of himself. Wonder what Sirius would say if he knew?

Sirius! Harry remembered the last package. Was it from Sirius? He pounced on the package still lying atop his bed, putting the letter telling him of his new status as prefect on top of his list of school supplies.

He unrolled the parchment, reading with unabashed delight his godfather's words. 

                                    _Hey there pup!      _

            Harry thought about that for a moment, a grin slowly coming to his face. Not counting 'the Boy-Who-Lived' (which Harry didn't) he'd never had a nickname in his life. He rather thought he liked this one.

            _I can't believe it's your fifteenth birthday already. I was there for your first one, you know – me and Prongs, pacing the delivery room on opposite circuits. When they came to tell us Lils had given birth, they didn't know exactly who to give the news to until Prongs gave out a whoop that startled everyone in the same, I dunno, the same shire? He then jumped up in the air and raced down the hall past some astonished nurses. Of course, I was two steps behind._

Harry grinned again, though this one was a little tinged with wistfulness. A dad…

            _I want to say I'm very proud of you, Harry. You've taken the past year's events very well, and I don't know if anyone could have been as composed and clear-headed as you in that situation. _

_            I wish I could be with you, Harry, that I could really act like the godfather your dad meant me to be – me and you in our own place, and ol' Moony would room with us too, of course. I'm across the Channel right now. I'll try to go back as soon as possible, but you know it would be a little difficult._

_            Until I get there, take this birthday present as a sign that I miss you. _

_Yours affectionately,_

_Snuffles_

            Harry sniffed a little bit, trying not to admit to himself that he, a fifteen-year-old boy who had faced off to Dark Lords and minions and very nasty school-rivals, was crying. 

            He looked at the small box that had come with the scroll. It was a pale blue, and could be held easily within the palm of his hand. He hefted its weight in his palm, shaking it a little and trying to figure it out. Finally, consumed by curiosity, he opened it.

            The box held within it a small figurine of a stag. The note inside the box explained that the figurine was made of erihalcon – a gold-colored element found only in the South American region. Unlike its much more expensive cousin, orihalcon, erihalcon did not have any rare or particularly formidable abilities like magic-focusing or Inner-Sight-enhancing. It did, however, have the most convenient ability to store pictures and such – sort of like the wizarding world's equivalent of a digital camera. All Harry had to do, it was explained, was hold the figurine in his hand and cast the Graphis spell while looking at whatever he wanted to 'snapshot'. To see the pictures, he had to hold the figurine and cast Revelasio. 

            What if Sirius had already put some pictures in? Harry squeezed the erihalcon stag and said, "_Revelasio!"_ He knew that something that just activated an existing enchantment wasn't monitored by the Ministry – if they did, they'd be forever going out to arrest young witches and wizards who flew brooms or played wizard chess or Exploding Snap. 

            The stag's eyes glowed, and Harry jumped slightly as beams of multi-colored light shot out from them. They formed a picture in the air, like a reel projecting onto a movie screen – only there was no screen. And for the rest of the night, Harry sat in his room and looked at the dozens of photos of the Marauders in their Hogwarts years that Sirius had loaded into the stag-figurine.

*** 

            The next day he didn't regret it (much) even if his eyes did keep drooping closed. He slogged through his chores, eating his meals mechanically. He completed mowing the lawn – his last chore – in record time despite his tiredness and went straight to bed. He was asleep and snoring before six-thirty in the evening, foregoing supper. Dudley ate his cousin's portion. 

*** 


	5. The Answers That You Seek

_  
The power to be strong  
And the wisdom to be wise  
All these things will come to you in time  
On this journey that you're making  
There'll be answers that you seek  
And it's you who will climb the mountain  
It's you who will reach the peak  
_ -Son of Man, Phil Collins

***

            Harry found himself in the garden. He blinked once, twice. Yes, it was the same garden where he'd…met Shiva and Quetzalcoatl. Only the moon overhead was different – it was a slightly fatter crescent than it had been when he had first come. Which brought up interesting questions – did time pass in this place? Was it even _real?_ He_ walked towards the oak tree where Quetzalcoatl had been perching on the last time, but there was no one there. After walking around the garden once, checking the nooks and crannies for the two Aeons, Harry sat down on a nearby garden-bench to wait._

Almost as soon as he had, there was a flash of blindingly intense lightning, accompanied by a crack of thunder so deep it sent vibrations shuddering through his bones. The white-blue lightning slashed across a branch, which did not burn, but instead was suddenly supporting the weight of a huge gray raptor. Its dark eyes bored into him.

            *There you are. Where have you been?*

            Harry opened his mouth to answer, but before he could an icy wind buffeted him, ruffling the edge of the leather jacket which, curiously enough, he seemed to be sporting in the dream, even if he hadn't been wearing it when he'd gone to bed. The wind rushed past him, leaving several tiny snowflakes on his lashes and caught in his dark hair. It swirled in a miniature tornado of flashing ice before resolving into the pale form of Shiva. 

            *Be easy, Quetz. Yesterday was Harry's birthday.*

            *Does that excuse him? We have so much to do… he has to learn what we are, what _he_ is…*

*So,* Shiva sent impatiently, *let us begin instead of complaining. Harry,* she began, turning to the fifteen-year-old boy, *You must listen carefully. We are a form of magic.* 

"Hmm…" Harry said musingly, not that surprised. What else _could _they be, after all? "I guess you'd fall under Defense Against The Dark Arts…"

*No, actually. Defense and all the rest are just forms of wizardry.* 

Harry was drawn up short. "But didn't you just say…?"

*She said we were _magic,* Quetzalcoatl sent. *That doesn't mean we're wizardry. That's only one form of magic.*_

"I always thought wizardry _was magic..." Harry said slowly. _

*I have neither the time nor the slightest inclination to start discussing the true nature of magic,* sent Quetzalcoatl somewhat archly. *And really, I don't think you'd want to. Boring stuff. Right now, what you have to know is that we are magic, pure and simple. Simpler, in ways, than wizardry.  How do we differ from wizardry? Well…what is wizardry?* 

"Uh…"  _Freedom, savior, horror, duty…_ The words sprang into his mind, easy to grasp after long nights locked into rounds of reflection about his life. But he couldn't tell them that. And anyway, that wasn't anything but his own personal take about it. He rather thought they were looking for something more like a definition. But how did you _define_ wizardry? It was everywhere…

*Exactly. Wizardry can be seen in almost every aspect of life. There are spells for battle – or dueling, which is what wizards call it – for execution, for cooking, for _everything._ On the other hand, Summoning magic is really used for only one purpose: battle.* 

At the word 'battle' a peculiar feeling came over Harry, as if something cold and bright had run through his veins instead of blood.  

Shiva's expression was absolutely serious, which – Harry realized suddenly – was something he hadn't yet seen.  *Though both wizards and Summoners are born with innate strength, usually the difference is not enough to really matter. What really determines one's strength in wizardry is how well one studies the matter – how well one learns wand movements and spell words, or how to make Potions…wizardry is actually the scholar's art. 

Quetzalcoatl began to send again. *Summoning, on the other hand, increases its strength not so much by studying but by the Summoner training himself. Learning how to fight, building power and speed and skill – that is what makes a Summoner rise. How strong you are in Summoning depends on how much you are prepared to withstand. We rely more on instincts and trained reactions than knowledge – more on strength of body and mind rather than memorization. In style, in purpose, in execution: Summoning is the warrior's art.* 

Shiva took over. *Harry, you are a Summoner. The first to be born for two hundred years. It was not something you _inherited – _neither your mother nor your father was a Summoner. Still, it is your birthright. I…cannot explain it very well now. Your spirit has all the traits of a Summoner, and it has ever since you were born. Be satisfied with that.*

Harry was used to vague explanations. He didn't like them, but he was used to having half of what he was told kept back in secretive phrases. That didn't mean he would stop trying to get at the whole truth, though.

"Is that what Dumbledore wanted to tell me? I mean, is that why Voldemort tried to kill me as a baby, and couldn't?" he asked curiously.

*No. They don't know of your Summoning magic; they only know you're a powerful wizard. It's actually quite odd – few Summoners are born with more than one type of magic. And I don't think those were as strong as you are in your other magic, in your wizardry. I suppose we should be happy for it – Summoners don't really come into their own until their teens, and if that Lord Voldemort had killed you, we wouldn't have had a master,* Quetzalcoatl explained.

Shiva grinned, a thoroughly unnerving expression that was as cold and as deadly as a northern storm. *You must master us quickly, Harry, so that when next you two meet, me and Quetzy can make his acquaintance.*

"Master you? How am I going to master you?" But even as he asked, he knew the answer. 

*Why, training, of course.*


	6. There's A Window To Reality

_ this is for me, who still wants to remain   
what are you telling me to do?   
there's a window to reality  
is grasping the truth the only thing it can do?   
i haven't lived through half my life yet  
oppose it, embrace it  
endless experiences are unconsciously carved into me  
when i was put on the edge you held onto my trembling hands  
and for the first time i was able to see where i belonged  
above the vast towers   
or through the imprisoning depths  
i head for a world with no lies  
i want to know about myself_  
-Hemisphere, RahXephon OP

*** 

The sunlight splashed against the bedroom wall, coloring the pale wallpaper the warm red-orange of the sunset. The color attracted Harry's attention and for a few moments he gazed at it idly, before jerking himself out of reverie and closing his eyes again. The Aeons had given him some rather peculiar instructions the night before. 

*Think of us.* 

"What?!" Harry had to admit, he was expecting something more like _'Do a thousand push-ups and then swim across the Channel'_. Or, if it had to be mental exercises, _'Reach for the Eye of the Tiger!' _

*You've been watching too many martial arts movies,* Shiva observed. 

"Actually, Oliver told us that once. Except for the swim across the Channel – he just wanted the lake," Harry corrected automatically. "But…what do you mean, think of you?" 

*Think of us very hard.* 

And then he'd woken up. 

He'd spent the morning painting the fence – again - and then the afternoon mowing the lawn. Puzzled over his strange instructions, Harry nonetheless tried, as per directions, to think of the Aeons. Thinking of them was not actually a difficult proposition, seeing as how their images remained as firmly lodged in his memory as the first time he'd seen them, but his chores were sufficiently tiring to make him keep breaking off his concentration. By the end of the day, Harry was tired, had a headache, and was still confused. 

Hoping he'd have better luck in his bedroom, where it would be quieter and less distracting, Harry had taken a quick shower (Petunia screeching about the water he was wasting when she passed by) and then locked himself in. But even though he was no longer engaged in physical labor, he was finding himself distracted by the most inane of things. He hadn't known how hard it was to think of only one thing (aside from getting the Snitch in a Quidditch game) and one thing only, until he tried it. 

*** 

*Why isn't he contacting us?* 

*Well, Quetz, we weren't exactly clear in our instructions. Harry's not like the others, he's never had any experience with such as we before.* 

*** 

He gave up just when the sunset light dimmed into the purple of dusk, and took a 'break' from his mental exercises to have dinner. The Dursleys wouldn't be eating until eight – there was a special show Dudley wanted to see without having to be distracted by a meal – and so he gobbled down some leftovers before setting the table, preparing the meat, washing and chopping the vegetables and readying the ingredients for a pot of soup. Later, Petunia would stick the seasoned meat into the oven Harry had preheated for her, look at the pot he left bubbling, placed the tossed salad into a bowl, and then proclaim how she had worked and slaved over a stove for her two men, so did they like the food? 

But Harry had more important things on his mind. He'd contact them later, he thought, when he was asleep, and get a better idea of what they wanted him to do – really, _'think of us' _was alright as a greeting-card text but much too vague to be an actual instruction. So before he went to bed, he'd do some of his homework – his Potions assignment still needed to be done, and he'd promised himself that he'd revise his Charms. 

His plans for the evening set, he began to climb the stairs. As he made his way up to his room, however, Dudley came thundering down the stairs, roughly shoving his cousin to the side. 

Harry slammed against the wall, his right arm taking the brunt of the shock. With all the weight Dudley could bring to bear, the impact had been a hard one, and Harry was sure he'd have a whopper of a bruise there tomorrow. Cursing Dudley under his breath, and promising himself to use some of Fred and George's inventions on his fat whale of a cousin _very soon, _Harry made his way back to his room. Absently, his left hand came up to rub at his right arm. __

He could hear nothing else but thunder and the steady percussion of rain, his eyes periodically dazzled by lightning. In the midst of the storm, the gray eagle soared on wings whose wingbeats created winds stronger than the storm's. The dark eyes met his… 

With a startled blink, Harry came back to himself. He stood very still for a moment before suddenly bolting into his room. He sat in the middle of the floor, cross-legged, as he had earlier. He rolled up his shirt-sleeves, but the shirt was so loose on his thin frame that the sleeves kept sliding back down. In frustration, he shucked the shirt off completely, tossing it to one side before pressing his finger-tips against one of the runic characters tattooed on his skin. 

As the storm-image filled his mind, Harry grit his teeth and focused all his thoughts on Quetzalcoatl. He thought. He thought very hard. 

*** 

*Finally!* 

*** 

Harry felt his mind _catch_. 'Catch' was such a strange term for it, but it was the closest thing to the strange sensation of feeling everything suddenly fall into place, a line of communication opening up between two consciousnesses. 

*At last!* Quetzalcoatl exulted in his head. 

Harry should have been surprised at the sudden appearance of another psyche within his own, but he couldn't spare the concentration. Or perhaps his experiences in the dreams had inured him to the strangeness of the sending. In any case, as soon as he felt his mind _'catch' _on Quetzalcoatl, he slid his fingers slightly downwards, pressing them against the runic insignia for Shiva. 

_ Snow blurred her outline, flurrying around the Lady of the Ice like a white tornado. Blizzard-winds howled like strange wolves, with harmonics like the shuddering tones of broken crystal laced through. She stretched out a graceful arm, beckoning to him… _

Harry opened his eyes and grinned. The runes on his arm glowed for a moment, as if lit from behind, but, too busy with his new-found rapport with the Aeons, he did not notice. 


	7. Towards Chaos and Void

It was very late when Harry could finally be persuaded to leave off experimenting with his new ability. He was almost like a child, intrigued and fascinated with something utterly new, and this only reminded Shiva and Quetzalcoatl of how different Harry was. Most Summoners grew up being trained in – and therefore used to - the arts of the mind. Even those who were not, technically speaking, psychically-gifted would at least know how to achieve the mental state to send to their Aeons. But not Harry. The wizarding world was rather short on meditation techniques, and meditation was only part of the mental control needed to focus on Aeons. By Hyne, even the non-magical community – what was it they were called, Muggles? – had more idea of meditation than the wizards. 

*That's what you get when all your power is channeled by ritual and form.*

 "Hey guys!" Harry said, still cheerful from learning how to send, as he suddenly appeared within the garden. Harry stopped short, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. *Hey guys!* His grin, already wide, widened further. *Hey! I can send here too!* 

*Of course you can,* Quetzalcoatl sent, flying down from his branch to perch on the back of the bench Harry was sitting on. *I'm surprised it took you this long. Well, at least you're clearer now…*

 "Clearer…?" Harry murmured, forgetting to send. His eyes widened. All those times in the past when the Aeons had responded not to what he said, but what he was thinking…he hadn't made the connection then, but now…

 "You were reading my mind?!"

*Well, we're sort of living _in your mind now, you know,* Quetzalcoatl pointed out. *And we don't exactly go through your thoughts, but you were practically broadcasting…* _

*Alright, alright…* Harry sighed, remembering to send this time instead of speak. It got easier the more he did it. *So, what are we going to do now…?*

*Harry…do you know where the ley lines are?* 

 *** 

Harry did, of course. Wizards used the power that flowed through those conduits of natural magical energy, and so of course he knew about them. He couldn't spout off the exact configuration of ley lines, or where the most powerful intersections were, like Hermione could – and did, on occasion – but he'd studied the subject for nearly four years now. It was probably the most interesting part of History of Magic – which didn't say much, considering that the rest of it were just goblin rebellions. 

The rest of the night was a lot more like a lecture-class than any of his other meetings with the Aeons had been, and it occurred to Harry how lucky he was to be able to do his 'studying' literally in his sleep. 

As Shiva and Quetzalcoatl explained it to Harry, wizards' spells called upon the invisible energy that flowed through ley lines of the three dimensions; Summoners used the power that existed in the fourth. This fourth dimension, which many in the Muggle world had theorized about, was the…well, place was the closest concept the Aeons could convey to Harry…beyond the order of the universe and the matter that made it up. This was where the Aeons resided, until a Summoner could link them to the three dimensions. 

Some items and beings retained an existence in the fourth dimension; this resulted in some of the energy from that dimension leaking into the world. Summoners drew that energy and stored it. The energy tended to settle into certain patterns, for lack of a better word, depending on the nature of the item/creature from which the energy flowed. For example, a rock would have the energy patterns for an earth-based spell; a tree, for a life-spell.

By the time they had gotten to this point in the discussion, it was day. Harry was walking to the grocery-store to pick up some food, a twice-weekly occurrence when Dudley Dursley is a member of the household, and another is Vernon Dursley. He was taking his time, strolling unconcernedly, hands in pockets. (Pockets which were so huge they could probably fit his head, never mind his hands) There was a distracted look in his green eyes – it was probably a good thing he could walk this route blindfolded, as he was busier sending to the Aeons than paying any real attention to where he was. 

*But,* he was at the moment protesting, *what happens to the…subject when I draw energy from him? Does it hurt?*

*Most subjects, as you put it, won't even know you're Drawing from them,* Quetzalcoatl explained. *The only way they would was if they were a Summoner or an Aeon themselves. Only we can use the energy from _pleroma…the fourth dimension,* he elaborated, when Harry sent a wordless burst of inquiry at the new term. _

*They cannot use it, or feel it, or gain any sort of advantage from it, and in any case whatever you Draw will regenerate within a day or so.* 

*I think that maybe you could do with a demonstration,* Shiva sent. *Harry, I want you to place your mind…well, do you know the feeling right before you send? Prepare to send, but don't send anything.* 

Harry did so, stopping in his tracks. Fortunately, he had stopped right in front of a storefront so it just looked like he was window-shopping. Stopping in the middle of the sidewalk for no apparent reason would look rather strange. Unfortunately, he had stopped in the front of a store that specialized in baby-things, and by this we mean cribs and bonnets and toys that encourage color-recognition, not just things a boy's peers would consider juvenile. 

This would be of particular annoyance to him later, but as of the moment he was concerned with more important things. 

*Touch your arm…you have to _see me.*_

Harry did so, and noticed that when the image of Shiva popped into his mind, this time there was a visible corona of blue-white light around her. And the light just…seemed to move towards him…until he…

Harry almost staggered with the sudden influx of energy as suddenly the light seemed to coalesce into a comet-tailed sphere that hurtled towards him, disappearing into his body. 

*There. You can see the spell-energy when you concentrate, and then Draw it,* Shiva explained. *Like right now, you've just Drawn Blizzard.* 

And thus it began.

*** 

Harry later found that a corner of his mind kept track of the amount of energy he had, so that he always knew how many types of spells he had, and how much energy for each.

This proved very useful in another aspect of the Summoners' powers, Junctioning. Harry could use the energy he stored to augment and enhance certain aspects of himself – his strength, agility, endurance, resistance to elements, and the like. The effect's strength depended on the type and amount of energy he chose to Junction, so Harry played around a lot with his ability.

Quetzalcoatl and Shiva wanted him to train up his body so that he'd be able to better use his abilities. Unfortunately, with all the chores the Dursleys piled onto him, there was little time to do so. Harry resorted to playing his trump card – it was a touch on the crass side, and he felt a little guilty about it – but in the end he wrote a letter to Sirius, wherein he ever so casually mentioned that he was having trouble completing his homework, what with the lack of time.

Sirius's answer came in the form of a Howler, which promised dire and direct retribution to the Dursleys if his godson did not have as much free time as he wanted. Harry cast a Silence spell – one of the new ones he'd Drawn, not a wizarding spell – to hide the Howler from the neighbors and this apparent ability of Harry's to do magic without being warned off by the Ministry was an added impetus to his relatives to treat him better. 

Harry was now practically left – no, the word was too mild; better to say, _abandoned_ to his own devices. He could stay all day in his room if he wanted; or he could wander about town; or he could go have himself wild orgies, for all the Dursleys would do about it. His meals – apparently they did not want Harry to tell his godfather that his meals were anything to complain about – were still left out, but they were somewhat more appetizing and still hot when Harry ate. Like in his first year, the Dursleys hurriedly scurried out of any part of the house he came into, and so it was probably a good thing he spent most of his time outdoors.

Harry did in fact use some of his new-found free time to do his homework, carefully revising his Charms work as he had planned and even completing his Potions homework, but most of the time he trained. 

In this, he followed exactly what the Aeons told him to do – after all, they were the ones who knew what they were doing. For some reason, he expected some heavy-duty combat training, like in those military movies he'd managed to see as a child – slogging through mud, learning fifteen different ways to kill a man, hiking through jungles to wrestle with man-eating bears or something like that. 

What they wanted him to do was run. Sometimes the Aeons asked him to do other types of exercises, (he visited the community swimming pool at least twice a week now) but mostly he ran. 

In his running all over Little Whinging, he soon memorized all the locations of those things that had energy he could Draw. He as yet found no people he could Draw from, but he stocked up from certain old trees, and rocks, and random places which were veritable fountains of energy – the Aeons called them Drawpoints. 

His Aeons were the best source of spells, and soon he had all the Blizzard and Thunder energy he could hold onto. Later in the summer, when his body had become more physically fit, Harry had shocked himself – and the Aeons as well – when, Drawing from Quetzalcoatl, he had seen the lightning-Aeon's aura seem to…intensify. When he'd Drawn it to himself, he found he had Drawn, instead of Thunder, the more powerful Thundara. He was later able to duplicate this feat with Shiva, Drawing Blizzara from her, but this ability to Draw second-level spells was unpredictable. Sometimes it worked. More often, it did not. His Aeons assured him that as he progressed, he would be able to do it more regularly. 

He also found out he could Draw from his phoenix-core wand, and appropriately enough, the energy he drew from it were for Fire spells. His Omnioculars yielded enough for a few Scan spells every once in a while. The trees yielded Cure and Esuna, though not in large amounts.  A few Float and Silence spells rounded out his repertoire quite nicely. 

*** 

**AN**

**November 26, 2003******

I really dislike this chapter, too much exposition. The first part, his 'talk' with the Aeons, was written to replace about a paragraph's worth of exposition in the original chapter. So that's why they sound rather stilted. 

Another 'set-up' chapter. I'm so glad it's out of the way, and now Harry can just Draw and Junction and essentially do Final Fantasy-type things without readers telling me that I never mentioned it. I hope.            

 Next chapter gets more interesting though. Again, this is my hope, not a statement of fact. 

About the spells: **Quake** spells are earth spells, since there aren't any that I can recall from the Final Fantasy series. And I'm making **Water** spells part of their own series, instead of being the only one. I don't remember any wind spells either, so I made up **Gale. If I'm wrong, and there are real wind or earth or second-level water spell from FF, please feel free to point out my idiocy. **

The pleroma and some aspects of my whole the-way-magic-works pseudo-theory were drawn from my studies. I take a class in Christian Civilization, and when we discussed the various heresies, imagine my surprise when Gnosticism turned out to have Aeons in it. That's about the only place I can find mention of Aeons as spirits…wonder if the Squaresoft guys got it from there…

Please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please (_huff_) please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please (_pant pant) please please please please please….**REVIEW!**_

(quietly, to side) So, do you think I sounded pathetic and deprived enough?

Wolfie: (Cyberwolf's snarky muse) No, I think you retained a shred of dignity. You might want to get rid of that. (ponders) I take it back. You have none left.

*** 

**November 28, 2003******

See front page for details on the revision. ^_^


	8. Only The Bearer May Pass

            Harry was leaving. His trunk was all packed, and he had informed Vernon – by the simple expedient of leaving a note, as his uncle was never in his vicinity long enough to exchange any sort of message – that he would be leaving the house by today, August 23. 

            Harry looked around his small bedroom for what could be the last time for a year – or possibly more, if he had any say in it. He studied it not out of some desire to fix it clearly into his memory, but only to check if he had left anything behind. There was nothing. The room bore no sign that anyone had ever been there.

            He went downstairs, his trunk bobbing gently along behind him, courtesy of a Float spell. He was dressed in Muggle clothing, preferring to leave his wizarding cloaks alone until he absolutely had to go to Hogwarts, even if he was going to take a wizarding form of transportation. The summer had given him a predilection for clothing that did not hamper movement – which described Muggle clothing more than wizarding. Harry noticed the kitchen door swinging as he reached the bottom of the stairs, and grinned. The Dursleys had probably seen him with his floating trunk and were now shivering in their kitchen. Mockingly, he called out, "I'm going now. Thanks for everything!" and left.

*** 

            Just before he left 4 Privet Drive, Harry draped his Invisibility Cloak over his trunk, rendering it unseen. He adjusted his Float spell so that his trunk now hovered a good eight feet in the air – high enough so that no passing pedestrian could accidentally bump into it and be startled at impacting against apparently nothing. Several blocks away from Privet Drive, he stuck out his wand hand. With a loud pop, the Knight Bus came hurtling down the road, screeching to a halt so that Harry could load his things.

            "Diagon Alley," he told the elderly driver, depositing the required twelve Sickles into his hand. Harry was very glad to see that neither Stan nor Ernie was on the bus; he didn't feel like dealing with people who knew who he was. The single other passenger was an old lady who was asleep in the back. When the driver wasn't looking, he yanked the Invisibility Cloak off his trunk and dispelled the Float on it, so that it again looked like a normal wood-and-brass trunk. They reached Diagon Alley without incident.

            He booked a room at the Leaky Cauldron, and brought his trunk there before going to the bank. It was early in the day and so Gringott's wasn't too crowded; he was seated in a cart within five minutes. As they hurtled down the twisting rock corridors, Harry gave a passing thought to the first time he'd been here – with Hagrid – and suddenly felt old. Had it been only four years ago when he'd first started going to Hogwarts, first learnt about the magical world? He'd been eleven then…now he was fifteen, and who would have thought he'd be what he was now?

            The wind of their passage ruffled his hair, and he came out of his musings with a start. He realized that they'd been riding the cart for nearly ten minutes; he'd been able to reach his other vault in less than one. He tapped the shoulder of the goblin who'd been assigned to escort him. "Why are we taking so long?"

            The goblin – he'd been introduced as Silvertooth, and indeed his jaws fairly gleamed in the dim torchlight – turned to look at the teenager. "Mr. Potter,  
 he said stiffly, reminding Harry of Percy Weasley at his most pompous, "we at Gringott's take pride in the security of those who entrust us with their wealth – especially the high-security vaults. These vaults, such as your own, are located deep underground, not only for the distance, but to accommodate the special measures taken to guard them."

            "I thought all Gringott's' vaults were high-security," Harry commented, clutching the side of the cart as it swung around a particularly sharp turn.

            "There's security, and then there's _security_," Silvertooth said. He grinned so that his teeth caught the light. "I'm sure you understand what I mean."

*** 

            When they finally got to the mysterious Vault 5, all Harry could think about was a scene in a spy movie he'd once watched. It had been at Mrs. Figgs' house, when he was ten years old, and there had been a part of the movie where the main character had to go through all sorts of elaborate measures just to enter his office.

            Harry was distinctly reminded of this scene as they neared his vault. His first inkling that this would not be as simple as letting Silvertooth open the vault door was when, with a groundshaking crash, something that seemed uncomfortably like a dragon jumped in front of them.

            The first thing Harry said was a curse, though not of the magical kind – more of the 'wash-mouth-out-with-soap' kind. He was preparing to cast one of his strongest attack spells – a Blizzara - at the dragon when Silvertooth seized his arm in a tight grip, long thin goblin fingers digging painfully into his flesh.

            "Do not make any sudden movements, Mr. Potter. That is a watchwher – half-dragon, half-golem. It's guarded your vault for the past eighteen hundred years. It only awakens if a living creature comes near the vault, and it kills those living creatures…" his fingers dug in more as Harry tensed, "…_unless they bear the blood of their masters. Now stay still…" Despite the instruction, Harry jerked away as a sharp pain bit into his hand. He glared at the goblin with a small needle-thin blade in his hand, dark red over the silver – dark red, his blood._

            He was about to spit out a very lurid curse, and perhaps a couple of fireballs along with it, when Silvertooth raised the blood-darkened blade to the watchwher. The watchwher lowered its great head, huge eyes whirling green and gold, until it was nearly level with the tiny goblin. Harry could see himself reflected in those green-and-gold eyes, see the rows of curved razor-edged teeth – each fang larger that the goblin who stood fearlessly in front of it. The watchwher was _massive. It was bigger than the Hungarian Horntail he'd had to fight – bigger than a Chinese Fireball – bigger than any of the dragons he saw illustrated in his schoolbooks._

            The watchwher's eyes glowed – really glowed, like embers – and a glimmering the exact same shade of greenish-gold appeared around the blade. The watchwher blinked, and the glow disappeared. It swung its massive head around to look directly at Harry. Then it – there really was no mistaking it – it _bowed its head. A low thunder emanated from the draconic beast._

            "Good. The watchwher has accepted you as the heir proper," Silvertooth said calmly, sitting back down. Harry looked at the goblin, the stinging pain of the wound making him glare. "And what was that business with the knifing?"

            "I apologize for your injury, Mr. Potter. But as I have said, the watchwher tends to be deadly unless you can prove you bear the proper blood. We had to offer proof. Otherwise, it would have killed you, or at least used its fangs to obtain the blood. Believe me, by our method there is much less blood spilled. We will be happy to offer you a healing potion once we are back at the surface" 

            The watchwher lifted its head. It spread its wings, and with a beat that made Harry feel like he was in the middle of a wind-tunnel, flew off. Harry spun around to watch it go, saw it alight somewhere far up and to the right. Its eyes, discernible still in the cavern-darkness, were fixed on him with an unblinking, somehow worshipful intensity. 

            "Now if you will, Mr. Potter…" The cart started forward again with a lurch, rolling into a small side tunnel that had been previously hidden by the watchwher's bulk. They rolled steadily along for a few minutes, Harry surreptitiously using a Cure on his wound as they did so. The cart stopped in front of a featureless wall of stone.

            "Please be so kind as to alight, Mr. Potter."

            Harry, deciding that Silvertooth probably knew what he was doing, obeyed. He vaulted neatly out of the cart, making sure to use his right hand rather than his newly healed left, and then looked back at Silvertooth. 

            "Please place your hand into that indentation on the right wall of the tunnel – yes, that one."

            Harry placed his hand on the stone, watching as the slight depression in the wall shifted like liquid to the precise shape of his hand. He stood very still as a pale light suddenly appeared around him. It hung around him like especially bright fog, pulsing gently. The light flared once, to brightness as great as halogen lamps, and disappeared. So did the dead-end wall. The rock shimmered, as if seen through heat-haze, and then was gone.

            Harry had to repeat this process twice more, thinking again of paranoid security measures, before they came to what seemed like a gate made of crackling energy. "I am afraid our paths must divide at this junction. Only those authorized to go inside may pass that spell of sealing. As a son of the family, you are one of those authorized. I am not. Merely walk through, and you shall find yourself within the vault. Here..." Silvertooth thrust a red velvet drawstring bag at Harry. "You may use this to carry away whatever you wish to withdraw. It is charmed to be bottomless, so do not worry about the limitations of space. Once you have completed your business, return here. I shall be waiting."

*** 

**AN**

(Hurls herself, weeping, at her reviewers) 

Thank you thank you thank you thank you!


	9. The Secrets of the Vault

            Going through the gate – the spell of sealing, as Silvertooth had called it – was like having his whole body abruptly go pins-and-needles, a slightly uncomfortable tingling that spread through him until, suddenly, he was through.

            Immediately he saw why Gringott's' had installed so many security measures. The vault was _huge_. Torches set into the walls and columns at regular intervals came suddenly to life, illuminating the cavernous room with unnaturally steady firelight. A vaulted roof stretched to great heights over his head, supported by marble columns that marched down the length of the room. The spaces in between the columns were filled with heaps of treasure – there was no other word for it – that towered like glittering hills almost to the roof, overflowing so that only a relatively narrow corridor of floor was left uncovered, bisecting the center of the vault.

            Even his Aeons were impressed. 

            *My word…*

            *Now you can buy yourself a new wardrobe, Harry,* Shiva sent to him, causing Harry to wonder what made females – even female (as far as he could tell) Aeons - so intent on items of clothing. Even Hermione, the most sensible girl Harry knew, could wax as poetic on the importance of being well turned out as she could on the fascinations of Transfiguration. 

            *Yes, yes* Quetzalcoatl sent in agreement, half-startling Harry. He relaxed again as Quetzalcoatl continued: *Get yourselves some real training-wear, not things so large you spend half your time hitching them into place as actually doing exercise. And, Harry, you _will_ need better clothing for the training to come. Perhaps some pieces of armor, too…*

            *And you need to get better clothes, period. Not just for training, but – really, Harry, the cast-offs of a pig? Further, his color-blind mother picked them out for him. You can do better.* And Harry laughed at Shiva's blithe insults before moving forward. A wardrobe? That was the least of his concerns right now. If he wanted to buy new wardrobes for himself, and for every member of his House, every month of the year, he could. And do it without making a noticeable dent in his newfound wealth.

He walked down the steps that led to the vault – where he stood, with the spell of sealing crackling furiously behind him, was the entrance-place of the vault, an alcove set into the sheer rock wall. Fifty feet below was the treasure-heaped floor of the vault. 

            He moved carefully; loose unset stones and various coins littered the steps, as if untidy children had left their playthings behind them. He could tread on something that would skitter off underfoot, and fling him down the steps – which, they being steep and many, would likely break his neck. And wouldn't that be grand? Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived Through Several Encounters With Voldemort, being killed by one of his own gemstones.

*** 

            The vault was lit up clear as day, the torchlight reflected by surfaces of gold and silver and various precious stones so that the very air seemed bright. Harry didn't even need to take one of the torches along with him, just left them in their brackets to blaze as steady as Muggle lightbulbs. The light and the dimensions made Harry feel as if he were in some kind of ancient cathedral, subterranean and vast.

            There was such an amount of sheer wealth here, in this vault that was now Harry's and had been his father's and his grandfather's, that he could not quite think of it in its entirety. Later, he would know intellectually that the vault contained around sixty-nine billion Galleons in various currencies, and treasures and deeds of land and property whose combined worth (if you did not listen to historians, who claimed that some of the artifacts there were beyond price) was eighty-three billion Galleons. But there are numbers so vast – especially, sometimes, when it comes to things that move the world, like money or men – that the mind does not fully grasp the true import of the numbers. So Harry walked slowly through the subterranean cavern, appreciating it not for its sheer worth – not completely – but more for the small flashes of uncommon beauty here and there. 

            He walked slowly down the corridor whose walls were treasure-heaps, sometimes stopping for something interesting. He scooped up a handful of golden coins, not Galleons but something older, and let them trickle through his fingers like sand, back to their pile with a sound like struck tuning forks as they fell. He knelt to examine a statue of some sort of solemn-faced deity, all massy gold and encrusted with turquoise and sapphire. There was a rolled-up tapestry near that, and Harry unrolled it to see a forest-scene embroidered onto the still-snowy cloth with vibrant-colored threads, the style grand and medieval in a heraldic sort of way. 

            The vault was full of wondrous things like those, and Harry's progress to the front of the vault was rather gradual. Once, he stopped, and looked to the left and right of him as he saw narrow corridors cleared through. He was, by now, in the very center of the vault and the corridors led to doors set into the walls, dividing the vault into four cardinal points – the entrance at the south, the doors to the east and west, and the front, marked by a large box on a dais, to the north. He looked at the doors for a moment before continuing to the dais.

            *Harry,* Shiva sent to him. *I've noticed something. The things at the south, near the entrance, were all your sort of money, and not a lot else…but as we go further north the coins change and different sorts of stuff start cropping up…*

            *It's nearly chronologically arranged,* Quetzalcoatl sent thoughtfully. If someone older and perhaps university-exposed could have heard the gray eagle, he could have told Harry that was the tone of an academic with an intellectual puzzle. But no one but Harry could hear the Aeons. *Your ancestors must have been depositing their wealth here ever since there _were_ ancestors to deposit…and they just kept adding and adding.*

            Harry nodded once, but sent nothing in reply. By this time, he was nearing the dais at the farthest end of the vault. He mounted the wide marble steps to where the box sat in great state. The box was crafted of dark oak wood, shiny not with polish but with years and years of handling, carved round with what Harry thought were runes. A strange metal, unidentifiable to Harry, banded the sides. He lifted the lid, noting the runes pulsed once with light as his hands touched the wooden surface, and began to leaf through the papers therein. 

            They ranged from old parchment, held from complete disintegration only by a battery of preservative spells, to modern and almost-Muggle looking sheets of paper. Harry lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the marble floor, reading with great interest. 

At the very top was a thick sheaf of parchment that had the Gringott's' seal on top, which seemed to detail the contents of the vault; another sheet, also emblazoned with the Gringott's' seal, gave an inventory of his trust-fund vault, complete with records of how much he had withdrawn each year since starting Hogwarts. There were several deeds to lands and estates held in the Potter name – which included castles in England, Scotland and Wales, and other estates in several locales – each of which trumped anything Vernon could find in Majorca, even if Grunnings promoted him beyond his wildest dreams. This prospect Harry relished greatly. 

            There was a sheet of paper stapled to the back of the deed to the Welsh castle – which looked fairly modern, actually. Harry glanced at it casually, only to freeze when he saw the name signed with flourish at the bottom: James Potter. He sat very still for a moment, before tucking the deed into the drawstring bag. 

            There were other things, too, complicated-looking contracts and legal documents, which Harry got somewhat less than the full gist of. His family had something to do with a few corporations, he gathered. 

            *What you need,* Shiva announced with a certain tone, *is one of those people who do nothing but analyze your money for you. You're only fifteen, Harry.*

            *You mean an accountant?* Harry pondered this for a moment. *That's not such a bad idea…heh,* he suddenly chuckled, switching back to regular speech. "Who would have thought I'd ever find myself _needing_ one? The Dursleys would go mad." Harry suddenly found himself laughing hysterically. Filthy rich, filthy stinking rich, literally more money than he knew what to do with – and all it cost him was a childhood and a family. He ought to tell Ron that. It was so easy to become rich…

***

            *Harry! Harry!*

            He lifted his head as the Aeons' increasingly desperate calling finally registered. He wondered for how long they'd been at it. He roughly swiped a balled-up fist across his eyes, noticing that his glasses were lying on the ground and that his face was tear-wet. He'd been crying. When had he started…? 

            *Harry?*

            "I'm…I'm okay," he said quietly. He didn't feel like sending. 

            *…all right,* Quetzalcoatl sent. Shiva was silent. *Are you done, then? With the documents, I mean.* 

            Harry looked down at the bundle of papers in his lap. He sighed. He couldn't really understand what they said, after all – not totally – and if he was going to take Shiva's advice and hire an accountant, he could review the documents with a professional on-hand later. He began to place the papers back into the box, but set the bundle down again when he saw something else in the oak container. 

            It was a small sphere, made of something clear like glass, and inside it was a ring. When Harry touched the sphere, the top retracted and he was able to pick up the ring. He held it up to the torchlight, using his other hand to put his glasses on as he squinted. It was a seal-ring, made for impressing house crests into wax. Harry had a strong suspicion that he was holding his family's seal-ring in his hand. It was gold, rather in the massive style of a man's ring, and bereft of any sort of set stone. Harry gauged its size with Seeker's eyes, eyes used to judging minute distances. It looked too big for his own skinny fingers – probably slip right off – but…

            He placed it into the bag, along with the deed to the Welsh castle. The rest of the papers he returned to their original container, and placed the box exactly where he had found it. He walked back to the vault's entrance, going much faster than when he had been going the opposite way. He only stopped once, near the steps, to toss several handfuls of Galleons into the bottomless bag. He didn't know exactly how much he had taken, but he was pretty sure it would suffice for everything he needed. He climbed up the steps, as careful as he had been going down them. 

            When he stood at the threshold of the spell of sealing, he turned to look one last time at the vault. The torches began to die, one by one, leaving the place in darkness except for the faint, dim glow of the spell-energy. In the strange light, the reflections from the metals and the jewels were more unfamiliar than when they had been cast in firelight.

            *Harry…*

            Harry remained silent as he turned around again and walked through the spell. 

*** 

**Author's Notes**

This chapter had a bit of indirect wish-fulfilment. I'm never going to be that rich, unless Bill Gates decides to make me sole beneficiary in his will or something, so I let Harry do it. I love 'Harry is rich!' scenes even more than 'Harry gets presents!' scenes. ^_^ But I hoped to make this more than just finding out he had a vault. The best 'Harry finds out how rich he really is' scene I've ever seen (pun not intended) is in the fic **Harry Potter and the Year of Rebellion. **I strongly suggest you guys read it. Like, now. You won't be sorry.

I deliberately left the seal on the ring undescribed because, frankly, I can't think up one at the moment. Maybe I'll have better luck later…any suggestions from you guys?

Other inspirational literature for this chapter includes **'the Arabian Nights', **and **'the Jungle Book'. **Soundtrack was mostly background music from **Chrono Cross. **

The reason why the Aeons didn't talk very much in the previous chapter is because they don't really have any more to say about the Wizarding World than Harry does. If they know something he doesn't, it's probably only because he's seen it and forgotten, or didn't analyze it as much. 

I'm going to post a little outline-thingy regarding future Aeons and Harry's Summoner powers later. Many thanks to everyone who helped me iron it out. Feel free to comment and criticize the outline if you want. ^^;;

Many thanks to **AthenaKitty, Orion the Hunter, wanderingwolf, Arianne, Sasha, Serpent of Light, Cornflake, ihateschool, miles militis ab perditio,** and to the two who gave me some of the most thorough and informative reviews I've ever seen in my life :D **Daelan **and **Neverwhere. **I'm going to try and email replies to reviews from now on, instead of posting it since ff.net's not happy with that anymore. (thanks for the heads-up, Neverwhere!) 


	10. Calling The Roll

_ Moon rising, disguising   
Lonely streets in gay displays   
The stars fade, the night-shade  
Falls and makes the world afraid  
It waits in silence for the sky to explode  
Here I am on man's road  
Walking man's road, walking man's road  
_             -Man's Road, Last Unicorn: OST 

***

            A shaft of pale-gold sunlight pressed against Harry's closed eyes, awakening him from a dream that, for a change, was really a dream and not a 'visit' with his Aeons. He sat up slowly, yawning and stretching and looking like a sleepy cat (though he did not know it), before kicking the blanket off him and rolling to his feet. He padded into the adjoining bathroom, emerging ten minutes later showered and much more awake. Today was the day the prefects were to meet, so Harry had worn his Hogwarts uniform, noticing as he dressed his lack of any other decent clothes and the way even his uniform was beginning to be too small for him. Shiva was right: he _did _need a new wardrobe. 

            He made his way to the Leaky Cauldron's dining room, seating himself in a windowed nook for breakfast. McGonagall's letter had said to be at the Cauldron at ten o' clock and it was just now eight-thirty – enough time for a meal. He propped his hand on his chin and gazed out the window as he waited for his food.

            Through it, Harry could see various merchants beginning to open up their stores. The first few shoppers – mainly gray-haired witches of formidable appearance – started to appear in the streets, and Harry smiled more than once as he watched them haggle with hapless-seeming shopkeepers. The black lampposts that provided Diagon Alley with illumination during the night now stood dim and empty, having been charmed to shut off as soon as the sun rose enough to light the street. 

            Harry remembered watching this scene, or at least many like it, during his stay at the Leaky Cauldron just before his third year. But there were differences now. He could see bars in the windows of the shops, and saw the shopkeepers casting security spells around their shops and goods. The shoppers were fewer, and they walked more briskly, darting quick, wary looks around them. Most glaringly different was the new Auror station shining white and neat down the Alley, only a few buildings away from the Cauldron. 

            _'Damn Voldemort,' Harry thought fiercely to himself, unconsciously fisting his hands. He hated seeing the wizarding world – his refuge from the Dursleys, something that still seemed a little out of a storybook – become grimmer, more suspicious, less kindly. Just to survive Voldemort. '_Damn him!'__

*Don't worry, Harry,* Shiva purred inside his mind. *We will.*

*** 

            The other new prefects began to arrive at around nine, when Harry was almost done with his breakfast. His nook became the unofficial gathering-place for the new prefects, since he'd been the first one there. The first to arrive were the two Hufflepuff prefects, who came together: Ernie Macmillan and Susan Bones. Harry had worried a little about how they would be – _he knew Cedric's death was not his fault, but he did not know if others would take the same view. However, Ernie was more perceptive than people thought him; more perceptive, indeed, than he had been when he and Harry had been second-years. _

He immediately stuck out his hand to shake, and told a relieved Harry quietly that Hufflepuff House did not hold him responsible in the least. He could have told Harry more: like how Cedric, hearing some of his Housemates complain about Harry's participation in the Triwizard Tournament, spoke up in Harry's defense; and how Cedric had spoken admiringly of Harry's sense of fair play. He could have told Harry how he and his yearmates, who knew Harry from classes and from the events in second year, had a better recognition of Harry's true character than the rest of their House. He could have told Harry that he had seen Harry's face when he came back from that horrible Third Task. 

He did not – not this time. But the day would come, when he would – over shared food and drink, in an atmosphere of camaraderie and brotherhood – when they had shared experiences, which binds people together better than anything else can. But that day was not to be for a while yet.

Susan was a shy girl, and Harry could not remember ever exchanging more than a sentence with her. But the smile she gave him was friendly enough, and Harry's answering smile was just as bright. He did not notice, as he turned to speak to Ernie, how Susan's cheeks turned slightly pink when he smiled. 

The three of them were happily chatting and having some drinks – only juice, as it was early in the morning - when Padma Patil, of Ravenclaw, appeared. Within short order, she was just as comfortable as the rest of them. Harry was surprised at how easily they were all getting along, in fact. 

Naturally he was happiest to see Hermione arrive (he'd had little doubt she was the other Gryffindor prefect, of course), but he was having a good time with the others as well. They were all, in fact, behaving as if they'd been friendlier and more accustomed to each other than they really were. Harry was glad of it.

Terry Boot arrived soon after Hermione did, and then the full complement of fifth-year prefects from Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor sat and talked. Padma and Hermione discussed something rather dry and obscure that brought animated lights into their eyes, while the others had an equally intense discussion on Quidditch. 

The Cauldron's fireplace flared with green light. 

The table of Hogwarts students fell silent, as if by mutual consent. Harry, Hermione and Padma were on the side of the table facing the fireplace, and so they saw the Floo arrivals before the others. Terry, Susan and Ernie twisted in their seats when they saw their schoolmates' faces change; when they saw who stood in the fireplace their faces changed to the same look of wary watchfulness.

The Slytherin prefects had arrived.

 Draco Malfoy was there, of course, brushing ash off his gray-cloaked shoulder and managing to look very elegant as he did so. Harry scowled at the sight of him, though he wasn't surprised; Draco was the absolute head of his year in Slytherin, and anyway who else was there - Crabbe? Goyle? 

What _did surprise him was that the female Slytherin prefect was Blaise Zabini. He would have guessed that Pansy Parkinson, the most outgoing (that is to say, bossy and demanding) of the female Slytherins, would be the other prefect. _

Instead, they got Blaise. Harry wasn't sure how he felt about that.

The slender, dark-haired girl was one of the more secretive of the Slytherins – which, considering that the House was prone to secrecy anyway, meant that Harry knew next to nothing about her. She had little to do with the warfare constantly raging between Slytherin and Gryffindor; in fact, she seemed to have little to do with anything at all. Harry had seen her, sometimes, watching as he and Draco faced off with absolutely no expression in her pale blue eyes. No excitement, no rooting for her fellow Slytherin or desire to see Harry humiliated and brought low, not even interest. He hadn't seen her, for that matter, wearing a 'Potter Stinks!' pin last year, at a time when the thing had been as ubiquitous on Slytherins as their green-and-silver House crest. 

So far, all these things seemed to suggest that he regard her favorably. She was, without a doubt, the Slytherin who had been nicest to him, even if that was more a matter of omission than of commission. Still, Harry couldn't find it in himself to be happy. In fact, he was actually a little more nervous about her status as fellow prefect than he was about Malfoy, for some reason he couldn't put his finger on. 

*** 

            If Harry had been alone, and without distraction, he could have heard the Aeons talking to each other. He was getting very good in sending, and in any case, the barrier between their thoughts – if such a word could be applied – and his was thin. However, since he was focused on the new arrivals, Shiva and Quetzalcoatl talked without his knowing what they said. This was a bit of a pity, because it turned out to be a thorough analysis of his thinking processes.

            *The kid has good instincts,* Shiva said approvingly. *Even if he doesn't trust them enough yet.*

            *What?* Quetzalcoatl had been thinking about something else, and the 'distracted means you don't get to hear everything' axiom applied both ways.

            *Harry doesn't trust this Zabini girl. Though she hasn't been actively cruel to him, like that Malfoy kid, and in fact fairly decent by the standards of what he's had to go through, he doesn't trust her because _he doesn't know her.* _

            Quetzalcoatl sent, *Good boy, then, knows the value of accurate intelligence and all that. Though really, shouldn't it have been expected? He's a Summoner born, and they usually have very good battle instincts.* 

            *If he would only learn to listen to them. He keeps passing it off as luck or things not worthy to be Gryffindor. Perhaps it would have been better if he'd gone into Slytherin like that Hat said.*

            *Gryffindor's taught him some good things too,* Quetzalcoatl pointed out. *And I have doubts as to how well he would have turned out in that den of serpents.*

            *Quetzy, you're acting on Harry's bias.*

            *And, from what I've seen, with good reason.*

            *Well, I wish he'd learn to be a little more sneaky and suspicious and serpent-like in any case. It would keep him alive longer.*

            *He's going to learn all that soon enough anyway.*

***

            They watched as the Slytherin prefects began to walk towards them. As they neared, Harry's frown deepened into an angry glare. They were very close now, and the other prefects tensed. Harry bent his knees, ready to spring to his feet, and noticed that Ernie and Terry were doing the same.

            Draco stopped a little distance away from the table. His gray eyes locked with Harry's, and he opened his mouth as if to say something.

            Harry half-rose, taut with anticipation. They had not parted on the best of terms at the beginning of summer. Whatever Draco was planning, Harry would be on his feet to meet it.

            Draco closed his mouth again, without saying anything. He shook his head once, and then turned away, joining Blaise at the table she had wordlessly sat down at, which was a fair space from the other prefects. 

            Ramrod-straight postures relaxed, as the tension left the table. Harry sank back into his chair, forcing his eyes away from the two Slytherins. Conversation resumed, though with lowered voices this time. This time, the topic was not books or lore or Quidditch. Studiously ignoring the Slytherins, they talked of serious matters – of parents' reaction to Dumbledore's announcement at the end-of-term feast last year, and changes in their behavior; of discrepancies noted in the Daily Prophet; of stories from the First War. 

This was the first time Harry had ever sat down and really discussed the first rising of Voldemort; usually, people refused to discuss it around him, because of how his parents died. But he was glad to hear about it. He remembered, suddenly, the first time he had heard the story of how his parents had really died. Hagrid had mentioned other families who'd been murdered by Voldemort. 'The Prewetts, the Blakes…the Bones…'

He glanced abruptly at Susan. She wasn't looking at him; she was saying something in a low, intense voice to her fellow Hufflepuff. Harry watched her for a bemused moment, wondering if Susan had lost her family like he had. 

But he was jerked out of his reverie when Terry, in a tentative voice, asked: "Harry…what happened that night?" No explanation of the question was needed; Terry could only mean one thing. Harry jumped a little, swiveling his head to stare wordlessly at the Ravenclaw boy. Terry visibly took a deep breath, but did not look away. 

At the edges of his vision, Harry could see the others focusing totally on the two of them; obviously just as interested – no, the word was too weak – riveted on his answer. Hermione shifted beside him, and Harry could tell she was fighting the urge to tell the others off for asking the question with the need to hear the answer herself. 

The normal sounds of the other Cauldron customers around them were like a wall of noise enfolding their zone of quivering, expectant silence. Harry opened his mouth with no idea of what he was going to say, but before he could begin to stammer, they heard a voice ringing out over the Cauldron's normal noise: "Hogwarts prefects, are you all here?"

They rose to their feet, walking over to where the Head Boy and Girl waited to Portkey them to Hogsmeade. 

*** 

**Author's Notes**

**December 28, 2003******

            I write this from a hotel-room in Baguio City, with no Internet access but lots of nice cold air (rare in the Philippines) and scenery to crank the old writing juices. Merry Christmas belated and Happy New Year early! :D

            A lot of characters are introduced into the story's roster in this chapter. Hermione, Draco and Blaise finally enter! I hope my choice and portrayal of the prefects, who haven't been much characterized in the books, do not annoy people. BTW, Hagrid really does say that about the Bones in '**Philosopher's Stone/Sorcerer's Stone'**, and there are a lot of allusions to future plot-points in that book (Sirius Black, secret of Harry's survival, etc.) so I'm wondering if Susan Bones will feature more prominently in later books. 

            Random note: today is a bit weird, in that wolves and war seem to keep popping up in it. So far, two showings of LOTR: Fellowship of the Ring on HBO, LOTR: Two Towers on the Hallmark Channel, a National Geographic special on the LOTR books, a NatGeo special about Pearl Harbor, a movie about wolves, a NatGeo special about wolves, two episodes of Gundam Wing, and this morning I decided to start reading LOTR after finishing a book about Belisarius, the Byzantine general. It just seems like a lot of coincidences. 

            Riiiiight. Um, does anyone reading this play **Ragnarok Online**? Just asking. Hehehe. ^_^ (Mag-tank!) 

            Oh, one last thing: **Return of the King **truly, truly KICKS THE BUTT OF EVERY OTHER MOVIE EVER MADE. This admitted by a Star Wars fanatic who's been fighting a rearguard action against claims that LOTR is a better movie trilogy than Star Wars. Don't think it hasn't torn me to make that admission. (sobs) 


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